N 21.36
W 33.35
From the mid-Atlantic
After a magnificent day yesterday we had an awful night. Plagued by minor squalls that would shoot the wind speed from 18 to 26 knots and overpower the hydrovane self-steering system, no body slept terribly well. Eventually we bore on to a reach and settled for a few less knots of boat speed and much better sleep. Now there's a bargain. After a sleep-in this morning we put up the beast (our pet name for our Parasailor) and switched on the autopilot. Voila! The autopilot is 100 times better at steering the boat than we are. So we've agreed to burn a little diesel to free ourselves up for the more important things in life, like fishing, reading, sleeping and eating.
Speaking of fishing, the fish have done everything but laugh at us. Last night I (Barry) was on watch with Martin Hill when a flying fish flew into the cockpit and hit me in the arse (serve me right for standing up). It was dark and all I knew was that something live was on the bench beside me flapping around. After a few choice words Martin picked up the fish and went to throw it back into the sea, unfortunately his arc was off and he whacked the fish against the roof of the doghouse. It fell to the floor, prone. Oh well, we tried. It is now bait in our increasingly desperate effort to catch fish, any fish, before we get to St. Lucia.
Patrick, our cook, is aggressively protecting his stores of tuna fish. I think he believes that we'll fake a catch (and cleaning). Until then it's chicken nuggets.
Cheers and best wishes from Walkabout II.